


hotel california

by Dishonorable_Mention, kaijusnowglobe



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Demons, Dubious Consent, Ghosts, Human AU, M/M, Minor Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Psychological Horror, Spooky, Thriller, just a fun time :-), some nsfw, very vaguely inspired by the song hotel california by the eagles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-22 18:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19969825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dishonorable_Mention/pseuds/Dishonorable_Mention, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijusnowglobe/pseuds/kaijusnowglobe
Summary: at the height of their dysfunctional marriage, alfred and arthur kirkland-jones, acclaimed writer, decide to go on a vacation in the middle of nowhere.they should have kept driving.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> on a dark desert highway...

Alfred and his husband sped down a desert highway at 85 miles per hour in the lasting heat of the night. 

It had been hours since they had seen another car on the road, and Alfred didn’t mind, his hair billowing while the top of the car was down. He felt like he had already lost five pounds in the heat, anyway. From behind his sunglasses, he looked over at Arthur, who frankly, maybe, looked a little miserable. Alfred neglected to ask him about it in favor of turning up the music, letting it play louder as if the two had the desert all to themselves. 

After a few moments of this, Alfred turned town the music a notch and sighed. 

“We should probably find a place to stop for the night.”

“You think?” Arthur practically yelled over the wind between them. From the looks of it, his sunscreen had almost near melted off from the heat, causing him to appear in between perhaps tempered and sweltering. “Any place does it, Alfred. I don’t even know why the hell we even decided to come out in the middle of this bloody desert.” 

The ideal vacation Arthur had initially thought was ruined by this weather, along with Alfred’s insistence to deflect every attempt at conversation the Brit could pull up to him. 

“Just anywhere,” he said, arms crossed and eyes looking outside into the sand. “Literally anywhere.”

“Yep.” Alfred replied lazily. “Will do.” He said, and pressed his foot down on the gas harder, his eyes narrowing. He could swear he saw some neon in the distance… 

Quiet moments passed between them. Alfred broke them for the second time the whole ride. 

“I thought it was a shortcut, you know. I didn’t know the desert here was so big.” Alfred said, running a hand through his hair, feeling sand across his fingers. “You can’t expect me to know everything.” He mumbled.

The neon came up closer, and Alfred slowed down, reading the sign. Hotel California. “Oh, like the song…” he muttered and pulled into the shoddy, small parking lot this hotel had to offer. “You wanted a place. Here’s your place. Let’s go.” Alfred said with an edge, unbuckling to get out and shut the door behind him. He grabbed a backpack and a suitcase from the backseat and moved toward the entrance, waiting for the other. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he had seen a white-haired man milling around, but he denied himself, thinking that perhaps he was really just seeing a tree blowing in the wind or something. He figured was too tired to be aware of others at this point.

As soon as the car stopped, Arthur took the first opportunity to get out and head for the door. He was clearly exhausted, going up to the openings and not making enough time for Alfred to follow. Alfred refrained from rolling his eyes as his husband walked by and he followed him, head down as he checked his phone. No reception. “Shit,” he mumbled and looked around. 

The lobby was washed in soft pinks and oranges, a mid-century motel in the middle of the desert. Air-conditioned. 

Arthur took a loud exhale as he clamored for the waiting room couch. The sigh, the exhale. He took a minute, skin sticking to the leather as he began to move again. God, did he even bring his wallet? Alfred surely could—

“Ah, hello.” 

Arthur turned his head at the voice. A man stood there, blonde hair and a welcoming face smiling. Arthur cleared his throat. “... sorry. Hello.”

Alfred's attention was caught by the blonde man who had said something and he nearly jumped. He looked up at the man, blonde hair twirling just past his neck, and walked forward to lean on the counter. “Hey, man. Room for two, please. King bed. Minibar.” Alfred’s eyes caught on what seemed to be tens of polaroids behind the counter, some sort of decoration of tourists past. He narrowed his eyes. All happy couples.

Maybe that would be he and Arthur when they left. He glanced at the other, wistful, and turned back to the concierge, sighing.

“Of course, monsieur,” Francis addressed them kindly as he made his way over the counter, seeming to punch the numbers into a crummy old system. Arthur already noticed that, exhaling as he crossed his arms and looked around the room. There were pictures to behold, and Arthur seemed to be quiet upon resting his eyes on a couple of them. He felt his heart ache. Perhaps Alfred needed the space away. Maybe that would help. 

“Actually,” Arthur interrupted, eyes lifting his gaze to Francis. “Make that a two-bedroom.”

Alfred’s head snapped to look at the other, a trace of confusion and betrayal in his eyes. “Um—what?” He asked, and looked between the concierge and Arthur as if they were conspiring against him. He turned his body to Arthur slightly and lowered his voice, brows furrowed. “Are you—are you sure? I mean, babe, we’re on vacation together,” He looked at the concierge, who seemed to be minding his own business, but Alfred couldn’t be sure. 

“Is that something you really want?”

The odd bellhop only seemed to smile at that. But at this time, Arthur has only raised a hand dismissively at Alfred before he took the time to continue to protest. 

“It’s fine. We can always push the beds together,” Arthur murmured. “I figure perhaps even you need some sense of privacy. I know I need it.” 

Arthur stuck his hands into his pockets, glaring at Alfred before sighing. 

“Please sign here,” the man behind the counter quietly hummed as he smiled. “Of course, please be sure to let us know what other services we can provide for you as well. We’re known for our rather cheap fees, you see.” 

“Wonder if I can pay you to fix this,” Arthur mused, leg bouncing as he went to stand. “Have you a smoking lounge?” 

“Of course we do, sir. But first, we’d like you to sign here.” 

Ignoring the glare from his own husband, Alfred glared at the concierge before snatching a pen from a cup on the counter. He signed his name haphazardly on the form pushed toward him, and in capital letters, wrote “MINI FUCKING BAR” and underlined it multiple times. He threw a hurt look at Arthur. 

“You guys have cable, or what? Room service? Can we have the keys now?” 

Francis took no time to hand the keys. As soon as Arthur had gotten the chance to take them, Francis pointed somewhere specifically called the North Wing. 

“Minibar is over there,” he said before pointing to the South Wing. “Smoking lounge is over there.” 

“Thank you,” Arthur said abruptly, taking off as he went to go to immediately away. “Have an amazing vacation, Alfred.”

Alfred took the keys for his own room and huffed heavily. “Cool. Super cool.” He mumbled to his himself, angry. How could he not be? “Super cool of you, Arthur!” He called after the other sarcastically, an afterthought. He grabbed his bags and began his trek to his room in the North Wing, secretly hoping that their rooms were somehow next to each other, a private surprise from that creepy concierge. 

Somehow, this place gave him the chills. The sweet colors and interesting decor weren’t enough to offset some sort of dormant, terrifying energy that Alfred felt in his gut. 

He shook it off to find his room, which was only another thirty-second walk. He turned the key in the doorknob and felt a cold breeze blow on him as he stepped further inside. It was silent. The room was, at least. The air conditioner wasn’t even on, adding on to the strange environment Alfred was surrounded around. He switched on a light and jumped this time, cursing. “Jesus, fuck!” He screeched, holding his chest. “Why were you—you’re cleaning in the dark?” He asked, staring at the other’s blank expression.

“Oh, you’re the new one I saw at the front.”

A voice. It sounded a little croaked and tired, but curious all the same. 

A janitor stood there, mop and bucket in hand, dressed in a simple collar shirt and a small apron around his lower waist. 

He blinked curiously at Alfred. But peering into them long enough, they seemed a little bit white. Muted. He still smiled. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all forward.” He let go of the bucket to set it on the ground and wiped his hand in his apron. No stain.

Alfred thought he could vaguely make out a vague, goofy smile, but even that seemed like a stretch. He watched as the man wiped his hand on his apron, wiping nothing away.

“Call me Gilbert,” he hummed. “Nice to finally see someone here.”

“Yeah, um… good to meet you. I’m Alfred.” He said awkwardly. “Uh—do you mind if I just have a little privacy?” 

Gilbert put his hands up, giving a humorous laugh. “Sorry, man. Just make sure to drop my name if you need some room service.” 

Silence. It was if he had disappeared when he turned the corner. 

∙∙∙

Ludwig watched with eager eyes as someone entered the smoking room. “Hallo,” Ludwig found himself saying, a forced sort of polite greeting. He said in the dim light in a leather chair, feet propped on an older coffee table, and smoked his cigar. He sat quietly, staring ahead at nothing. 

Arthur didn’t have anything so heavy. Nothing at all that heavy. But looking at Ludwig inside actually caused him to relax a little after one puff of his smaller cigarette. 

So they weren’t completely alone. 

“Hello,” Arthur murmured back, staring out into the ceiling as he gently crossed his legs and looked up. It was odd. The room itself seemed to feel as if it were in slow motion. Maybe it was because Arthur was just so tired? Who knew. Ludwig blew a cloud of smoke forward and glanced at the other man. 

“Traveling?” He asked, German accent thick. If one were to look closer in the dim light, they would notice the man’s clothes were a bit aged, a dark green cravat tucked into his shirt.

“You could say that,” Arthur murmured quietly. “Though, I really can’t say. We’ve travelled a long way away.” 

Arthur felt uncomfortable with the conversation. But oddly enough, he couldn’t really truly feel so tense. The smoke going back into his system from the room was circling, and it made him... relaxed. 

“You as well?” Arthur asked instead, unsure exactly where he found the confidence to do so. Alfred typically was the one who held the conversations together. It was odd to find someone honestly interested in wanting to speak to him. Scaring people away with just a look, Alfred had said. Ha! Showed him!

“Hm.” Ludwig hummed and nodded. “Yes. Traveling. A long while.” He said, watching the smoke around them circle and linger. “My… partner and I.” He muttered, thinking of Feliciano. “Perhaps you will meet him while you're here.” He added, taking another drag from his cigar. 

”However long you two decide to stay.”

“Perhaps it’ll be a lot longer than I think,” Arthur murmured, exhaling with him. “We both need some... time.”

It’s an understatement of course. Arthur felt much more compelled to really say that Alfred might have lost the interest in him long ago, revealed through Alfred’s actions, passive demeanor and... less interactions. 

It was always silence between the two of them. And Arthur can’t live with the fact that it wouldn’t ever get better than that. This vacation was the last bet to try and fix it. Married 3 years and already on the decline... it hurt Arthur truly.

“Time,” Ludwig repeated. “A funny thing. Truly.” He said, feeling a bit outside of himself. Or perhaps he was feeling too much like the person he once was. He simply couldn’t tell anymore. He ground his cigar in the plastic ashtray and sat back, considering lighting another one. 

“Be careful,” Ludwig found himself saying. And then out came more. “Time here is… different. However long you two may need may be more than what you two want.” He warned, eyes boring into Arthur’s. 

He smiled curtly. “Excuse me,” Ludwig coughed, lighting another cigar. “Sometimes, I lose myself.”

Arthur rose an eyebrow to that before dismissing him entirely. 

“Well, when did you arrive here?” He asked curiously, taking out another stick from his pack.

Ludwig couldn’t help but give the other a look. His eyes held sympathy, if not a hidden sort of malice, warring inside him. He inhaled sharply. “A long while.” He said, looking away.

“I am forbidden to say exactly how long, sir,” Ludwig mumbled, and then exhaled cigar smoke heavily. 

“Forbidden?” Arthur said with a passive snort. “A bit much to say, don’t you think?” He didn’t really expect an answer from him. Arthur only then appreciated the company. Even Alfred couldn’t hold a conversation this long. It was welcome. 

“Perhaps it’ll be a long while for me too. My husband.... and I certainly have the time.”

Was it really so weird to feel so numb to the name of ‘husband’? When did that ever feel so... far away? Arthur clenched his toes.

Ludwig gave another polite smile. “I wish you two the best of luck.” He said and hesitated for a quick moment before getting up. 

Standing, he looked around the almost empty smoking room. Ludwig took a nervous drag of his cigar once more. 

“Be wary of the concierge. He plays tricks on you.” Ludwig said very quietly, and very quickly before walking out of the lounge cautiously. “Don’t worry. I know. He’s French.” Arthur said as a thought. 

When Ludwig disappeared, Arthur was alone again, stuck in his own thoughts. He was quiet, picking up his phone briefly to browse it. 

No. Best not look at the pictures. He set it down again, wondering briefly what Alfred could be doing. Perhaps drinking himself until he fell asleep. Arthur couldn’t tell why, but he wanted Alfred to be the one to look for him and ignore everything else. But such a romance like that couldn’t last long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a shorter chapter following alfred :-) things will get spicy soon!

Alfred woke up early the next morning, used to waking up on Arthur’s time. Arthur. “Arthur? Honey?” He called out, forgetting for a brief second that they didn’t go to bed together. Panic washed through him until he remembered what transpired last night. Arthur asking for another room, which, in a few words, felt like Arthur had smashed his heart’s brains in and shoved it in the trunk of a car and then drove the car into a very deep lake. 

Alfred swallowed. How was he supposed to find Arthur’s room? He figured Arthur would most likely go to get breakfast. Did the motel offer a continental breakfast? Shit. 

He left, pulling on his awful tourist-y button-up, which clashed with his shorter-than-necessary black swim trunks. 

Alfred’s nose led him to an empty mid-century, poolside dining room, the smell of bacon and citrus bringing him in, like a trance. Immediately, he was passed a mimosa by a handsome, tan man with dark hair, smiling a dangerous smile. Alfred smiled eagerly at the man and sat down next to a window with a clear sight of the calm pool. 

Something in him felt like he was practically giving himself away to this place. Perhaps it bothered him for a moment, but it was overtaken by something else. Submission. 

Alfred hummed, taking a huge sip of his mimosa—it had been so long since he had drunk any liquid that it tasted like one of the best drinks he’d ever have in his life.

“It’s on me,” the man said smoothly, leaning into the counter as he smiled at him. There was an odd charm about him; one that called to patrons quietly with his eyes and his voice. 

“You shouldn’t be in a hurry. You’ve got a lot of time to wander the place!” He laughed. He sounded foreign, but his accent was less thick. It strung on to the ends of his words like honey.

“Oh, hi,” Alfred mumbled outwardly as the man came closer to him. Oh. The drink was free. Alfred smiled, gulping down half the drink and holding back a belch poorly. “Yeah, this place seems huge,” Alfred said, hoping he was adding something of worth to the conversation. 

“Do you mind calling the concierge or something and asking him something for me? My husband and I got here last night and he… wanted us to have separate rooms.” Alfred explained, feeling more embarrassed about it than anything else. “Keeping me on my toes, I guess.” He poured more mimosa down his throat. 

“I’m Alfred, by the way.” The blonde said, reaching out a firm hand for the other to shake.

The bartender took it, giving a firm shake. 

“Antonio,” he said, smile wide and eyes half-lidded with interest. “I’ll give him a call for you. Though, I would suggest perhaps you should relax here while I go ahead and let him know.”

With a movement, he went for the phone but returned the look back to the half exhausted Alfred in his seat. 

“You’d like to call him?” Antonio asked, eyebrows raised. “Your husband?”

Alfred smiled back at the other, the look on his face familiar. Attraction. Hope. A look that he hadn’t seen Arthur give him for a while—the weight gain hadn’t helped, and neither had Alfred’s “apparent disdain” (Arthur’s words) for his own husband. Alfred felt his face get hot, and he looked down, a shoddy attempt to hide it. 

He attempted to drink more of his mimosa, but somehow, it was already gone. 

“Yeah, I would like to… speak to him at some point.” He said, looking back at Antonio. “Another round. Please.”

With an almost satisfied laugh, Antonio walked away from the phone, serving him just that. 

“You know,” the man said slowly, eyes trailing to stare back at him. “Tell me about your husband to me, mi amigo. It can be a fair trade for that drink.” He began to grab glasses, though they oddly weren’t even dirty. Or used. 

They were almost dusty.

“Oh, um. Okay, yeah.” Alfred nodded, feeling it was fair. He also felt that this man was clearly hitting on him. The next mimosa was in front of him in mere seconds, and he took a long sip before answering. 

“Well, he’s British. So… he can be a little priss sometimes. And he’s super smart. Smartest person I know. And he’s nice. Sometimes. And…” Alfred found himself trailing off, shaking his head. How was he getting so fuzzy about his own husband? “And… he’s great. We’ve been married for, um… 3 years now. Met in college.” Alfred paused. Another sip of his drink. “I miss him.” He blinked and looked up at Antonio. 

Looking into the man’s eyes did something to him like his innards were turning to liquid—but Alfred felt okay with it. It felt like, in a strange way, that time was slowing down. 

The weird pictures, the atmosphere, the creepy janitor, the concierge, Antonio—something wasn’t right. Alfred could feel it burning underneath his skin, but there was nothing he could do about the feeling besides acquiesce. 

“You gonna call him, dude?” He asked, blinking himself out of a trance.

Antonio paused a moment before seeming to laugh. “Ah, yes I was. Sorry. I was a little distracted by your descriptions. You speak as if he is far away, no? But let me go ahead and give the call.”  
He went to the phone, picking it up and dialing the number. But as he opened his mouth, he began to speak instead in Spanish. Rapid Spanish. 

The conversation was fluid, eventually leading into an abrupt halt as he looked back at Alfred with a curious look. 

An expectant look. 

“What is your husband’s name, Señor?”

Alfred watched as Antonio picked up the phone and started speaking. He just wished he could understand. He sipped more of his mimosa until Antonio looked back at him. 

“Um, Arthur. Arthur Kirkland-Jones.”

Antonio gave a nod, repeating the name into the receiver before seeming to chuckle. And after a long nod, he turned back to Alfred, tilting his head. 

”Your husband does not seem to have checked into his room.”

Alfred watched Antonio as he continued on the phone, looking at the curves of his body, the way his dark hair fell against the ridges of his brown skin in curls. He swallowed and drank more.

And then he nearly choked on his drink. “I’m sorry, what?” Alfred asked, brows furrowing. “Are—are you sure?” His mind was truly racked. What had Arthur said before they went their separate ways last night? What had he asked for? Son of a bitch. Alfred couldn’t remember. 

“Um… is there any way you guys could find him for me?” Alfred asked with a polite, albeit panicked expression, finding the whole situation humiliating. He was sure Antonio figured their marriage was a joke.

Antonio gave a generous nod again as he gave a smile.

“Of course. But don’t worry about it. Your car is still here. He’ll be here for sure.” 

He put the phone down, coming back over with a gracious step. 

“Would there be anything else I could do for you today?” He asked.

 _How do you know my car is still here?_ Alfred thought, staring into the bottom of his drink. “Well, alright. If ya’ll say so.” He looked up to see Antonio’s smile, and for a moment, found himself absolutely smitten, overwhelmed with nothingness, if not a warm feeling in his stomach. He felt as if he could fall asleep. 

“Another one of these. And food, I’m starving. Feel like I could eat a horse.” Alfred laughed, and looked around. Nobody had walked in for an hour. And if he was of his right mind, he would have thought that to be strange, but instead, he focused on his next drink, his incoming feast, how pleasant and handsome Antonio was, and how wonderful this lonesome desert motel was.


End file.
